The Hot Seat
by Pamdizzle
Summary: Fic written for a mannip which may or may not show up on here. I'm not sure if the html transfers stuff like that. At any rate, this basically (definitely) PWP. Slash. Kirk/Spock. Jim found Sarek's study and in it...a chair...Spock finds Jim in the Chair. They do things...in the office. Rated M. Slash. Kirk/Spock. R&R please.


"Captain," Spock attempted to maintain the required level of decorum, "I do not believe it would be wise to have the Ambassador happen upon you here, especially as you currently appear and in his preferred seat."

"Come on, Mr. Spock," Jim's eyes dazzled and dared, his mouth slightly upturned at one corner, "you can't tell me you've never had the urge…never _felt_ that want for defiance."

Spock swallowed dryly and hoarsely replied, "I am Vulcan."

He could not be certain of the reason for Jim's most uncharacteristic behavior, though he had postulated on the hypothesis of unintentional contact with one of Vulcan's oldest and most appalled beverages. His father housed a great many pre-Surakian antiques, from ancient weapons to bottles of wine for which production had finally been halted half a century ago. While humans and Vulcans did not differ entirely in terms of internal processes, metabolism was one area in which they differed quite greatly. Terran alcohol, for example, had little effects on Vulcans unless it was imbibed in great quantities over a short period of time. If Spock's hypothesis was correct, it would take but a thimble full of the alcohol in Sarek's study to render Kirk…well…thusly, as it were. And worse still, alcohol was not the 'active ingredient,' but rather a rare Vulcan herb which in humans had the potential to cause a severe lack of inhibitions. Quite unfortunate indeed, this situation.

As it was, Jim was sitting in the chair, an antique in and of itself that had been in his house for generations, completely nude, his legs open loosely and stroking his engorged phallus provocatively. The crimson material of the seat's cushions only served to magnify the power and sexuality of the human's display. The dark wooden frame and trim accented Jim's honeyed complexion and again, Spock was forced to close his eyes and inhale deeply. It was not helpful. The musk of his Captain's desire was thick in the air that invaded his nostrils.

"Look at you," Kirk purred. "The picture of resistance. Tell me, Spock…why is it you seem so…tense?"

"Capt—Jim," Spock attempted to seek the tenants of logic that would see him overcome his own intense sexual reaction to the vision of his desire, in the flesh, open and welcoming before him. He averted his eyes, even as his feet slowly carried him closer—to subdue the wily human or to join him, he could not know.

"You don't have to hold back, Spock," Jim seized upon Spock's moment of weakness like a vulture circling overhead the tiring body of its dying dinner. "Look at me," he ordered suddenly, his commanding voice resonating with the several years of professionalism between them and Spock instinctively reacted to it accordingly.

The languid posture of but a few minutes ago had vanished and Jim was now sensually drawing his feet up, the rest of his body following suit in a sultry fluidity, until he was crouching upon the seat cushion, his left hand balancing him as his right hand slowly crept down to pull upon his sanguine length, so heated was it with obvious desire…

_Desire…for me_, Spock's all-too-human id prompted, and the Vulcan's body pulsed to life despite his prized control. _Jim…_

There was the barest notice of the human's knowing smirk before Spock closed the distance between them, crashing their mouths together and hauling Jim from the chair. The human's legs wrapped around his hips naturally, and his entire person quaked at the tight press of their bodies, the savage seeking of their hands and tongues.

Jim tasted him greedily, sucking Spock's inexperienced tongue into the heat of his mouth, his hands threading and tugging urgently at the pristine order of his hair, giving outward expression of the chaos that had roared to life within.

"Spock…" Jim whispered the plea across the saliva-laden shell of a well-teased, pointed ear, "…the desk…"

Spock nodded jerkily, half-grunting something of an agreement as he carried his delightful burden to his father's desk. A quick sweep of the arm, bared it of all its contents. They collided with its surface ungracefully, but the battle for touch and taste waged on until Spock was fully divested of his shirt, the clasp of his pants undone and pushed down around his knees.

"Ah!" The bark of his complete unhinging tore itself from Spock's diaphragm as Jim gripped his swollen penis and tugged it against his own. He collapsed onto the human's frame, his forehead resting on smooth, damp skin as his hips mindlessly pumped into Jim's hand.

Abruptly Jim was reaching for something, squirming impatiently beneath Spock's body to the point of distraction and he was forced to look up. He arched a curious brow before reaching over and claiming the bottle of oil, "You seek this?"

"Not exactly," Jim corrected with a wicked grin, gently taking the bottle from Spock's hand and emptying a vast quantity of it into a cupped palm. Spock moaned again, throwing his head back, when Jim spread it over his phallus. He blindly allowed himself to be maneuvered, until he felt the blunt head of his penis pressing against a firm, but malleable surface.

His eyes snapped down to see himself at the entrance to Jim's body, the human's legs wrapping around him and pulling him closer, "That's it," Jim encouraged, "that's it…s'okay …I've been ready since you walked through the door."

Muscular calves nudged him from behind and he watched, transfixed and utterly enervated as the tip of his penis slipped past the ringed opening. He could not speak. He could not breathe. He could not think. "Ooooaaahhh," He cried long and loud, his hands flying to grip Jim by his biceps to pull him further down toward the edge of the desk, where Spock rammed forward, burying his length to the hilt.

Jim's mouth opened in a soundless scream, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and Spock…the Vulcan would recall it later with more than a hint of amazement…Spock _growled_ in immense, dominating satisfaction. _This_ was _his._

He drove forward and pulled back, over and over, unthinking, uncomprehending of anything beyond desire and heat and fire. He delighted in Jim's stunned, pleasured silence…the staccato, nearly inaudible mantra of 'uh…uh...uh...' with each intently driven thrust into the tight pressure of Jim's channel.

An uncoordinated hand landed upon Spock's own, where it gripped bruisingly into Jim's hips, "Here," Jim managed to instruct breathlessly, pulling his hand to the human's bouncing, weeping cock. "T…Uh!..._Touch_…"

Spock complied, wrapping his palm and fingers around the turgid flesh, mimicking Jim's earlier actions to perfection. The arching of Jim's back in response to his ministrations, the heady moans that escaped his sensual lips spurred Spock's desire, his need for fulfillment. He slowed his pace, but maintained the intensity, snapping his hips forward forcibly, enjoying the echoing slap of their bodies as the sound bounced off the walls of his father's office.

His hand flew up and down the length of Jim's shaft, and the human's hips bucked and writhed. It was uncoordinated, fully animalistic in its execution and yet, it was gloriously fulfilling. "God damn it!" Jim screamed, suddenly, his entire body was rigid and convulsing around Spock's unrelenting sex. "Fuck…Spock…" his hazel eyes regarded him with awe and wonder. "F—Fuck…"

Spock could resist their call no longer, and he too was wracked with an orgasm…the first of his life…of crippling intensity. Crippling, quite literally, as his legs were feeling less than stable, but Spock could not stop the motion of his hips, could not keep his mouth from Jim's and together they tumbled off the desk and onto the floor.

When finally they surfaced from the residual high of their coupling, Spock's mind slowly returned to order and he felt the tendrils of regret and shame as he took in the disaster they had made of Sarek's office, the mess of Jim's ejaculate—physical, unholy evidence of the magnitude of what they'd done—spread sticky and cold over his abdomen. And yet, with the simple touch of a hand to his cheek, the soft, sweet sweep of lips against his own, Spock's heart began to slow.

"I don't want to hear it," Jim said lowly. "Now, why don't we clean up and set the place to rights before your father and his dignitary parade get back, hmm?"

Spock blinked in illogical incomprehension, "Just like that? There is nothing you wish to…"

Jim drew Spock's gaze with a smile, "There's a lot I want to convey," he offered. "There's a lot I want to make clear…but I'll be damned if I'm going to do it with your father and his scowl present."

Spock quirked a brow and considered, "You appear…quite sober…"

Jim grinned devilishly, "Yes…I do, don't I?"

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End file.
